Boden's Mate
by celegra123
Summary: Crown Princess Blair has fallen ill, and now her timid twin sister Fleur must step up and hold her sister's Selection. But with an impending war with the French and foreign spies hiding in the palace, will Illea crumble to ashes before a prince is chosen? (MALE SYOC closed)
1. Opening

_Boden's Mate- a checkmate pattern in chess in which the King is checkmated by two crisscrossing bishops. Immediately prior to delivering the mate, the winning side typically plays a queen sacrifice to set up the mating position._

* * *

Chapter 1- Opening

 _Opening- the group of initial moves in a game._

 _-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-_

Fleur awoke with a start. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, breaths shallow and hasty. _It was just another night terror_ , she reassured herself, _nothing more._ Beside her, Alexia stirred.

"Fleur?" the 17-year-old princess asked groggily. Sighing, Fleur rested back on her elbows.

"It was nothing, Alex. Go back to sleep, okay?"

"Another night terror?" Alex glanced up with concern, honey blonde hair falling in front of her pale eyes. She was everything Fleur was not—carefree, beautiful, and a natural-born leader. Fleur nodded.

"Yes. They've gotten worse ever since Blair fell ill." She pictured her twin sister, with her matching ash blonde locks and grey-blue eyes. She pictured her happy smile and flushed cheeks, her bubbly laugh that had since been reduced to painful coughs. And then, of course, the French had attacked.

"Don't start going down that path again, okay? It won't do you any good. Besides, tomorrow we're announcing the Selected. You have to act like the princess Illéa needs you to be," Alex said. Fleur groaned. She had blissfully forgotten about the impending Selection until now.

"Those men were Selected for Blair, not for me." She vividly remembered her father and mother spending hours in his office, sifting through all of the thousands of applications and hand-picking the men best suited for her charming twin. That was a year ago. Before she'd gotten sick.

"Well, now this is your Selection. And these are your suitors. You're going to have to get used to it eventually, so keep your chin up," Alex said.

"Illéa doesn't need a prince; it needs a miracle," Fleur replied, getting a playful punch from her sister. She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Only she knew that she hadn't been joking.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Sit up straight and get that frown off your face. We're going live in less than a minute. Don't take these things so lightly, Fleur. Remember: you're the future of Illéa, and you'd better be a damn good one." Queen Natalia turned away from the princess, her own scowl melting into a prim smile as she faced the cameras. Fleur did as she was told, if only to prevent future arguments.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Report producer motion for cameras to start rolling. In a matter of seconds, their broadcast was playing on nearly every television in the nation live.

"Good evening, Illéa, and welcome back to the Report. I am your host, Benedict Tulane. Today, their Highnesses have a very important announcement for all of Illéa." The middle-aged man looked up at the raised stage where the royal family sat. King Edmond rose, followed by the queen.

"Good evening, citizens of Illéa. On the behalf of the monarchy of Illéa, the Queen and I are happy to formally announce the Selected men to compete in Princess Fleur's Selection. The 35 suitors have been drawn from a lottery of names. Here are the Selected…" Fleur drew in a deep breath.

The chaos had officially begun.

* * *

 **Characters:**

Crown Princess Fleur Aryn Vanderbilt (19)\- Crown Princess of Illea. She is quiet and shy, with a passion for playing chess and reading books. She cares deeply for her sisters but has a tumultuous relationship with her mother. She has long, straight ash blonde hair, fair skin, and grey-blue eyes. She is quite skinny and bony. Fleur prefers not to be social and hates the structure and decorum of the life of a royal. She feels unprepared to lead a country and can be slightly awkward and unfriendly. FC: Elle Fanning

Princess Blair Riley Vanderbilt (19)\- former Crown Princess of Illea. She is older than Fleur by about 10 minutes, but fell ill about 4 months ago and is currently unable to lead. She looks quite similar to Fleur, but has filled out more. She is bright and charismatic and knows how to command a room. The entire country loved her. She is diplomatic and passionate, sometimes letting her temper get the best of her. FC: Dakota Fanning

Princess Alexia Ramona Vanderbilt (17)\- Younger sister to Blair and Fleur. She is a bit naive but always happy, optimistic, and bubbly. She is cheerful and can lift anyone's mood. She is quite sheltered by her sisters and parents, so she is innocent and idealistic, not fully understanding the war between Illea and France. Nevertheless, she, too, is loved by the country and is a very eloquent speaker. She has short honey blonde hair and grey eyes. She is short and slim. FC: G Hannelius

Queen Natalia Vanderbilt (38)\- She is a queen who rules with an iron fist. She is strict with her children, but acts like the perfect, demure queen in public. She can be overly stern sometimes, and cares deeply for the future of the country. She also has a hot temper, but can control herself. Plays a large role in national affairs. She has straight light blonde hair and serious blue eyes. She is tall and slim. FC: Kate Winslet

King Edmond Vanderbilt (40)\- He is a hardworking man with little time for his family. His time is taken up by the Illean-French war that is going on. He is a bit detached from his family, but has good intentions at heart. He is averagely tall, with thinning blonde hair and tired grey eyes. He is stocky and a bit intimidating.

* * *

 **A/N: Hi everyone! Welcome to my story. I decided to start up a new story (specifically a SYOC) thanks to a couple writer friends of mine (Millyna's discord chat, specifically). Because of how much schoolwork I have and how little time I have to write, I will only be accepting about 5 MCs. Sorry! I may accept some minors or maybe increase the number of MCs, but for now, 5 is all I can handle. Also sorry for the weird formatting; I wrote this on Word and copied and pasted. Future chapters will probably be normal-looking. First, some ground rules:**

Rules:  
1\. Please don't send in perfect characters. Flaws make the story more interesting!  
2\. Send in forms through PM only.  
3\. Name the PM "Boden's Mate-[Full Name/Caste/Job]"

Form:

Full Name:  
Nicknames (optional):  
Age (18-21):  
Caste:  
Occupation:

Province:

Face Claim:  
Appearance:  
General Style:  
Other:

Personality (detailed):  
Likes:  
Dislikes:  
Fears (at least 1):  
Flaws (at least 2):  
Hobbies:  
Other (habits, quirks, etc?):

Background:  
Family:  
Friends:  
Other:

Opinion on Fleur:  
Opinion on Blair:  
Opinion on Alexia:  
Opinion on Queen Natalia:  
Opinion on King Edmond:  
Thoughts/Treatment of other Selected:  
Quotes:

Reason for entering:  
Reaction to elimination (early on and later):  
Anything I missed:

* * *

 **Form will also be up on my profile. Please go submit an OC when you can!**

 **~Cel~**


	2. Back Rank

***Trigger warning: implied child abuse***

Chapter 2- Back Rank

 _Back Rank- in which all pieces are in their starting positions._

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 **Silas Goldstein, Two, Angeles**

Silas absentmindedly ran a hand through his dark blonde hair. The faint _tick-tick-tick_ of the analog rang in his ears, counting down the seconds for what would be his final move. He examined the board. His opponent had set up Alekhine's Gun perfectly—almost. Two black rooks backed up by a black queen, aligned with Silas's white king. He glanced over to the far side of the board. _There._ The black king stood, guarded on the left by a single black bishop. There was no backup defense. His opponent had been relying on his obvious offensive move to distract Silas. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as his hazel eyes darted around the checkered board, nearly matching the rush he got while piloting his fighter plane in the midst of battle. His sharp eyes picked apart the positions of the chess pieces, looking for his opening.

 _Tick._

 _Tick._

 _Tick._

 _Bingo._ With a steady hand, Silas moved his remaining white knight. A perfect Arabian Mate.

"Checkmate." He tapped the chess analog, stopping the time with one second left on the clock. One second left to win. And yet, he'd done it.

"Arabian Mate. Interesting counter," Jonas Goldstein said, studying his eldest son's work. "But you were slow." He pointed to the analog, still incriminatingly frozen at one second remaining. "In battle, you don't have five minutes. And you cannot wait until the last second to act." The military general rose.

Silas knew better than to argue. He nodded his head, a familiar gesture by then.

"Silas!" Lucia's voice reached him before she did. "Silas, come to the living room, the Report's on!" His little sister's typically scornful expression had changed to an almost unrecognizable excitement. He turned away from the chess board, curious.

"Yeah, the Report is on every week, Lucia. Why are you so excited?" he asked. The 16-year-old rolled her eyes.

"Do you live under a rock, brother? This week the palace is announcing the Selected for Princess Blair's Selection!"

"First, it's Princess Fleur's Selection now."

"Oh, they're the same anyway."

"And second, remind me again why you're so excited? It's not like we have any chance of being selected. Neither Julian nor I even applied," he reminded her. She looked down at her feet with an expression of poorly masked guilt. Lucia fidgeted with the hem of her tunic. Silas barely had time to question her reaction when she spoke up again.

"Look, can you just _please_ come and watch it with me? I think it'll be really fun. We haven't done any family things since you and Julian joined the military." Her voice held a hint of sadness. Silas softened.

"Fine," he sighed, "but just this once." He got up and followed her to the living room, where a large flat screen television was mounted on the wall, already displaying the national Illéan crest. They sank into the couch.

"What are you two doing?" Julian walked into the room, eying his older brother and younger sister warily.

"Shh. Just come watch. They're going to announce the Selected soon," Lucia said. He shrugged and sat down on her other side. An introduction sequence flashed across the screen, and then a handsome middle-aged man in a sleek navy suit appeared.

"Good evening, Illéa, and welcome back to the Report. I am your host, Benedict Tulane. Today, their Highnesses have a very important announcement for all of Illéa." Behind him, King Edmond rose and stood tall on the stage dais. The camera panned to focus on him and the rest of the royal family sitting behind him. Queen Natalia had a polite smile on her face that didn't quite reach her eyes. Princess Alexia was grinning, barely able to contain her excitement. And next to her…

Silas' eyes zeroed in on Princess Fleur. She sat rigidly, looking straight without focusing on any one thing. Her face was a mixture of nerves and fright- though he could tell that she tried her best to hide it. He'd always known the younger twin princess was a quiet, finicky girl. She always seemed a bit out of place. _Like me_ , he reminded himself. Silas focused his attention back up at the screen, where Benedict stood front-and-center, brandishing a small stack of cards. _The Selected,_ Silas realized.

"Oliver Castro from Allens, Four!" Benedict announced with great bravado. A picture of Oliver flashed on the screen, which was split half-and-half with a close up of Princess Fleur and his application picture. The princess's face remained frozen in a look of polite appeasement. She barely seemed to look at the picture.

"Oh my gosh, Angeles is next!" Lucia seemed to be holding her breath as Benedict flipped to his next cue card.

"Silas Goldstein from Angeles, Two!" Time stopped.

 _Silas Goldstein._

 _Angeles._

 _Two._

He froze, staring at the screen, not quite seeing his official military picture pop up on the Report. Icy blood raced through his body and froze his nerves. Lucia's mouth was agape as she switched her gaze between Silas and the screen, and back again. Julian was still as a statue.

Silas turned slowly, stiff as a board, to face his younger sister. She watched him apprehensively, although the excitement in her eyes was unmistakable.

"Lucia." The word came out forced.

"Silas," she responded. She had the faintest impression of a cheeky smile, but she dared not show it.

" _What the hell_ , Lucia? What is wrong with you?" Julian spoke before Silas had even recovered from his shocked stupor. But his younger brother's sharp tone brought him crashing back down to reality.

"Watch it, Julian." Julian opened his mouth to make a retort, but saw the look in Silas's eyes and thought better of it. "Lucia, did you really—"

"Yes, okay? I submitted your name to the Selection. I didn't think you'd _actually_ be chosen, but… oh my gosh, do you know how _amazing_ this is?" she cut him off. Silas stared incredulously.

"Amazing? Are you serious? Lucia, I have work I need to do." He groaned. "What will Father say? He'll forbid it. And I don't even want to go to the palace, let alone compete for some poor girl's naïve affection!" He felt a sense of panic rise in his throat, but her forced it down. "You don't understand, Lucia. I don't know how things go at the palace. I can't predict what will happen, can't plan, can't prepare. I can't… do anything."

As if on cue, the large frame of Jonas Goldstein entered the room, deep in conversation with their mother, Jessica Goldstein. The three children all fell silent. Their father looked up.

"What's going on here?" he asked upon seeing their shocked and now scared expressions. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Silas felt a roiling fear in his stomach, and the faded scars on his back began to itch.

When the tension in the air became thicker than the humidity outside under the blazing Angeles sun, Lucia finally found the nerve to speak. Her voice was tiny compared to her usually bold tone. "We were watching the Selection lottery on the Report."

"And?" A hint of impatience stained Jonas's baritone voice.

"And… uh…" Silas cast his eyes down and noticed that his sister's hands were clenched tightly on the edge of the couch, turning her knuckles white. She seemed physically pained to say her next words. "… Silas was drawn as one of the Selected."

A beat passed and the tension in the room magnified. As always, Lucia couldn't help but ramble nervously in her current state of fear.

"Look, I was only doing it for fun, and I really didn't think—"

The tension snapped.

"Didn't think what?" Jonas shouted and took a step towards them. Lucia winced and the words died in her throat. "How could you be so damn _foolish_? Silas is a pilot in the Air Force. He has work to do. How will it look now that he can no longer serve because he's competing in some cheap-shot meat show for a new figurehead on the throne?" Spit flew from his mouth. His face was as red as the battlefields he fought on.

In two strides, Jonas reached the couch and roughly grabbed Lucia by her blonde hair. He jerked her forward, merely two inches from his face. "I'm sick of this 'rebellious teenager' crap. Get in line or get out of this house!" he snarled, pale eyes ablaze.

Without thinking, Silas dove forward, wrenching his father's hand from Lucia.

"Don't touch her." He fought to keep his voice even as his heart pounded rapidly from anger, fear, and adrenaline. Jonas laughed bitterly, a chafing, unpleasant sound. Silas hadn't heard that sound for many years, ever since their father had gained control over his temper. Apparently, it had returned with full force.

"You almost make it seem like you _want_ to participate, boy. What, do you want to take a break from piloting? Is it too much pressure being the 'prodigy' of the Air Force? Would you rather just sit and look pretty next to that—that _pawn_ of a girl for a living?" He spat the words like venom.

As Silas braced himself for the feel of his father's iron grip around neck of his shirt and the following tug, his mother briskly walked towards them and placed a hand on Jonas's arm.

"Jonas, stop," she said with authority. "I'll take care of it." She forced his arm down and steered him towards the door.

"Jessica, they must learn— "

"This won't teach them anything. Let me handle it. Go take a walk and come back only when your anger is in check." With that, she firmly closed the front door. Then she turned to her children.

"Mother, I'm so sorry, I—" Lucia broke off when she saw her mother's stony gaze. Tears still traced down her face and tremors ran through her hands, though she tried hard to hide the fact.

"Go to your rooms." Jessica spoke plainly, her face unreadable. The three of them knew better than to argue. Silas and Julian retreated to their room, Lucia to hers.

They didn't emerge when they heard the front door open and close. They dared not peek out the doorway for several hours.

When they came out for dinner, nobody spoke a word about the Selection.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 **Princess Fleur Vanderbilt**

 _The Palace_

When the Report ended, Fleur's tight-lipped smile still felt frozen on her face. Her cheeks ached from the nearly hour-long effort, but she couldn't just go back to normal, everyday Fleur. No, she was still numb from the overwhelming announcements, the truck load of headshots, the names that jumbled together in her brain like tiles on an upturned Scrabble board.

"Fleur?" Alex shook her older sister's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Fleur shook her head to clear her mind. "Yes, sorry. I think I just… I should probably go study the Selected and their files. You know, to prepare…" She let her voice drift off, still lost in her own head.

"If you're sure…" Alex seemed disbelieving, but was never one to pry about these things. She left quietly, but Fleur could hear her high heels skipping down the hallway once she was out of sight.

The princess walked aimlessly around the palace until her feet cried for rest, her head in the clouds and her feet on the cold marble floors. When she came crashing back down to reality, she found herself in the dimly-lit hospital wing and instantly walked over to her sister's private room.

The room was large, about the size of one of the guest bedrooms that the Selected would soon inhabit. It starkly contrasted the outside hospital wing, which was dark and melancholy, with its slew of string lights and decorative candles. Aside from the lighting, however, Blair's chambers were bare of any decoration. _It's only temporary,_ she'd say, _so what's the point of decoration?_

"You saw the Report?" Fleur nervously approached her sister's bed, wringing her hands behind her back. It was a nervous tic that she couldn't quite shake, but, thankfully, the Queen wasn't here to scold her. It was only Blair, and Blair meant safety.

"Of course. How could I miss my sister's Selection announcement?" The ailing princess let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a wheeze. Fleur felt a pang in her heart and tried to muster up an unconvincing smile.

"It's never going to be my Selection. Nor do I want it to be. This was supposed to be yours." She gestured with her hands at nothing in particular. She dropped them down to her sides. "Hell, I don't know the first thing about being desirable!" she exclaimed. Though her words were serious, Blair let out a chuckle.

"Relax, Fleur. Why don't we start out by just going over the files?" She weakly waved around a thick stack of manila folders.

"How did you get that?" Fleur whispered. Those files were confidential. If their mother found out Blair had gotten ahold of them…

But Fleur lost the battle to her curiosity. She inched closer, peering at the files.

"The hospital staff are too worried about losing their jobs to refuse an order from a princess," Blair said with a devilish grin. Together, the twin princesses flipped through the files one-by-one.

"Ooh, he's cute." Blair pointed to a glossy photo of a man with light brown skin, black hair, and eyes to match. Fleur allowed herself one second to ogle at the flattering headshot and then turned away.

"Blair," she said with a chastising tone.

The older twin flipped to another page. "Look, Fleur, this one's a filmmaker."

"Blair." The reprimanding tone was gone now. Fleur couldn't subdue the anxious beating of her heart in her throat.

"The Bonita guy is cute, too."

"Blair!"

"What?" Blair turned to look at her sister. With one look, she understood. "Fleur, you're better off learning about these guys instead of driving yourself mad with guilt and anxiety and whatever-the-heck until they arrive." Fleur bit the inside of her cheek. Her sister knew her too well. Blair softened her tone seeing her sister's furrowed brows. "Look. I know you, Fleur, and you know me. It's not your fault I can't hold the Selection. It's not your fault we're on the brink of war with the French. But it _will_ be your fault if this Selection fails because of your…"

"Antisocial tendencies? Yeah. I get what you mean," Fleur finished with a huff. Blair giggled.

"That's one way to put it, I guess. Point being that you should approach this Selection with an open mind. For you, for me, and for Illéa. Okay?"

"Okay," Fleur sighed. Blair raised an eyebrow and held up her pinkie finger.

"Pinkie swear?"

Fleur groaned. "Seriously, Blair?"

"Oh, just appease me." They hooked pinkies and smiled at each other.

Fleur glanced at the clock on the wall. "Shoot. I should go before Mother comes and yells at me." She rose from the edge of Blair's bed to leave.

"Don't even think about leaving these files behind!" Blair hollered after her. Fleur groaned and turned back, unable to stop a smile from forming on her lips.

How she would miss this joy in the weeks to come.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 **A/N:**

 **Hey, it's been a minute, hasn't it? Sorry about that, I'm super busy with school but also with procrastinating, soo…**

 **But it's up now! I told you guys on Discord that I'd post this chapter before the third chapter, didn't I? ;)**

 **Thanks to** Millyna **for Silas, and thanks to the Discord group for motivating (and sometimes threatening me) to finish the chapter. :) Feel free to join the chat if you haven't already! Link is on** Millyna **'s profile.**

 **-Cel**


	3. Sealed Move

Chapter 3: Sealed Move

 _Sealed Move- to prevent unfair advantage, the players can agree on the next move being secretly recorded in a sealed envelope._

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 **Aleksander Kostelnik, 7, Hansport**

Aleksander didn't know what to do. He had been waiting in the lobby of the expansive, sleek Allens airport for at least ten minutes, and his legs were starting to complain. Not that he wasn't used to it, of course—years of working in the gardening industry had strengthened his body and his mind. He looked down at his best pair of pants, an oversized pair of worn-out khakis that he couldn't quite scrub clean of dirt marks and mud splotches, and his designated "fancy" shoes, too-big dress shoes that were passed down from his father. Alek's shoddy stitch job peeked out from the seams of the shoes, and he sighed. _Soon, I'll be wearing the most dashing suits. If only the staffers would meet me here on time._

"Aleksander Kostelnik?" a sharp female voice cut into his daydreams, and he started.

"Ah, yes. That's me. But, please, it's Alek. I swear to God, my name is so outdated. Hi, I'm Alek Kostelnik," he said to the tall, stern-looking blonde approaching him. Next to her stood an equally tall man with broad shoulders, dark brown skin, and kind eyes.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Kostelnik. My name is Aiden Gaines, and this is—"

"Taliya Lockheart," the woman cut him off. "We are the executive co-advisors for their majesties, King Edmond and Queen Natalia. Please, follow me." She started to walk briskly in the direction she'd come from and didn't look back to see if Alek was following her. He hurried behind her, and the tall man caught up with him in three long strides.

"Sorry about her. She can be a bit blunt sometimes," Aiden explained with an apologetic grin.

"Sometimes?" Alek asked skeptically.

"Well, no. It's all the time, really. But she'll grow on you." Even he didn't look too convinced by his own words. Alek sighed. Oh well. You can't win them all, can you?

Pretty soon, the two advisors had escorted Alek onto an explicably lavish private plane, complete with soft reclined seats and ample foot space. The windows glistened like crystals, which, going by what he saw, might have well been. He grinned as he sank into a soft seat near the front. _I could get used to this._

Unfortunately, his moment of bliss was quickly interrupted. Not a minute after sitting down, another man, presumably one of the other Selected, boarded onto the plane. He was so tall he had to crouch to avoid banging his head on the airplane ceiling.

After getting seated (right across from Alek, no less), the man held out a hand.

"Antonin Marwell. And you are?" he asked as they shook hands. Antonin's blunt, business-like words surprised Alek, but he recovered quickly.

"I'm Alek," he replied. Antonin leaned back in his chair.

"Just Alek? No surname for the competition?" he drawled. Alek pursed his lips. He didn't want to tell this stranger, this prying stranger, his surname. After all, it was a dead giveaway of his heritage.

"Not today." There. Hopefully, Antonin Marwell would get the hint.

"Mysterious, huh? All right, I guess we all have our strategies." Apparently, he was not a very observant guy.

"What do you mean, 'strategies'?" Alek cocked his head.

"Well, why else would you hide your surname from me? I get it, you think Princess Fleur will like a mystery. Unless, of course, you're hiding something?" the sandy-haired man purred. Alek gritted his teeth.

"If I was, that would be none of your concern, Mr. Marwell."

"Ah, but it would. And it is." Antonin leaned towards Alek, who drew back slightly. "Better make sure you don't have any secrets, Alek. Those can be dangerous, especially if I'm here." He gave an insidious grin and leaned back.

"You don't scare me, Antonin." Alek rolled his eyes. He tried to stifle the rising anger bubbling in his chest.

"We'll see, Aleksander." Alek whipped his head to look at Antonin. His throat tightened. He'd just met this guy, how did he know his full name already?

"How did you know that." It came out more like a statement than a question. And, in his moment of shock, his words were tainted with a hint of his native Russian accent.

"Let's just say I have a couple helpful connections." Antonin smirked. "Careful, your accent's showing," he teased.

That was it. Even him, the trademarked middle-man for arguments, couldn't help but be gently triggered. Alek felt piping hot anger rising into his throat, spreading like a wildfire through his body. Angry words sat at the tip of his tongue. He opened his mouth to speak—

"Oh, uh, hi. I'm Benjamin Winston, but people call me Ben. So, I guess I should've introduced myself as Ben… um, hi, I'm Ben." In the heat of the moment, neither Alek nor Antonin had heard the lanky blonde enter the plane. They both looked up to the newcomer in silence. Ben fidgeted nervously.

Alek snapped out of his stupor first. "Hi, Ben. I'm Alek." Ben grinned, looking a bit relieved. He turned to Antonin.

"What's your name?"

Antonin just stared at him and then looked down to his open laptop, typing away.

"Oh." A dejected-looking Ben sat to the right of Alek, turning to him. "So, Alek," he started, "what do you do for a living?"

Alek smiled at the goofy blonde. "Well, I'd hardly call it 'living', but I'm a gardener." He saw the expression on Ben's face. "Yeah, I'm a 7. Don't worry though, I'm not too touchy about it. What do you do, Ben?"

"I'm a construction manager from Allens. I'm a 4," he added quickly, as if to clarify that he wasn't high on the caste system either. Alek chuckled. Ben was quite likeable. _At least all the guys aren't as wicked as Antonin_ , he thought.

"I really don't know how I got the position, though. I was always dropping stuff and bumping into things and knocking stuff down when I had to do field work. I guess that's why they promoted me; to stop me from getting near the work sites!" Ben expected a laugh, but Alek only grinned politely. He was, in fact, distracted by something he'd noticed. Ben's words seemed to have a curling lilt to them, an almost imperceptible change in the way he pronounced his vowels. To anyone else, it would've just sounded like a typical Allens accent, but Alek knew from his own experience what a poorly masked accent sounded like.

"Might I ask, where are you from? I noticed you have a bit of a foreign accent?" Alek asked cautiously. He knew what it was like when people pried about his accent, so he didn't want to be rude. After all, Ben might be one of the only nice men in this competition.

Ben cocked his head to the side. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean. I had a lisp when I was younger, maybe that's what you're hearing." He let out a laugh. Alek inwardly cringed and made a mental note to not make any more assumptions.

"Ah, sorry. Didn't mean to pry," he apologized. Ben smiled.

"That's alright." Just then, the overhead speakers crackled.

"Gentlemen, please sit back and put on your seatbelts. We are preparing for liftoff."

Alek clicked his seatbelt in and turned to look out the plane's oval windows, down on the shrinking plot of land that was Allens. When they were high enough, he could see Hansport like it was a distant dream. In this luxury plane, his life there may have well been one.

When he could no longer see through the mist of the clouds, he turned back around and braced himself for Angeles.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 **Princess Fleur Vanderbilt**

 _The Palace_

"I'm telling you, Fleur, it wasn't random!" Alex paced around Fleur's large bedroom, her feet slapping on the cold marble floors. Fleur sighed.

"Alex, what makes you think that the lottery wasn't random? From what I saw last week, the pool of Selected was pretty diverse. In caste and otherwise," she reasoned. Alex shook her head.

"No, no. Come on, do you really believe Mother wouldn't want to have a say in who you might marry?"

"Well, of course, but—"

"Exactly!" Alex exclaimed. "She chose some throwaways to appease the public, sure, but can't you see a trend in the upper castes? Men with connections, men close to the government, high profile men in film or in theater. That wasn't a coincidence, Fleur, it was Mother."

Fleur sighed. "Alex, you sound like a crazy conspiracy theorist right now. Mother has plenty of influence once the guys arrive and the dating starts. She may be a bit controlling, but I believe her when she says that the lottery was, in fact, a _lottery_."

Alex huffed. "I'll believe it when I see it." Then, her eyes lit up in a way that made Fleur's stomach roll with dread. Alex's ideas meant one thing: trouble. "Why don't you sneak into Mother's study and find some proof?"

"No. No, no, no, no way, Alex."

"Why? It'll clear everything up! Besides, I'm pretty sure she's in Likely right now to quell some angry 7s."

Fleur sighed. She knew that Alex wouldn't give up until she did as she said. And, as scared as she was of getting caught by her mother, Fleur was already starting to get annoyed by the pestering.

"Fine," she grumbled. Alex grinned and clapped her hands. "But if I'm caught, I'm blaming you."

"Yeah, yeah, just go!" She practically pushed her older sister out the door. "Don't come back without answers!" she hollered.

Fleur rolled her eyes with a smile. As irritatingly persistent as her little sister was, she was still such a sweet girl.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ten minutes later, Fleur found herself gingerly rifling through her Mother's overcrowded file cabinet as she sat at the Queen's desk.

"Why did I agree to this, why did I agree to this, why did I…" she mumbled under her breath as she searched. She groaned as she flipped through countless yellowed papers depicting policy changes, news from the provinces, travel arrangements, official correspondences, and…

Her brow furrowed as she pulled out a thick, dark blue manila folder simply labelled " _NFBT_ " in barely visible black Sharpie ink. _What could this be?_ Fleur carefully opened the folder. The first page was blank, except for a fresh-looking label that read, in bolded letters,

" **CONFIDENTIAL. HANDLE WITH CARE.** "

She hesitated. How much trouble would she get in if she opened it? What if her mother found out? _But Mother's in Likely_ , she reminded herself. With a cold fist of nerves in her stomach, she flipped to the next page. Her eyes widened.

Before she could take in what she saw, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor and funneled into the cavernous study. More specifically, the unmistakable click of Queen Natalia's high heels approaching the study, where Fleur sat among a pile of her mother's most confidential files. Her heart gave a jolt, and her stomach turned cold.

As Fleur rushed to frantically put the files back where she found them, her mind raced at a thousand kilometers per second. _How is she here? I thought she was in Likely. She was supposed to be in—_

Her eyes zeroed in on a memo from one of the government officials. Words that had blended and meshed together in a dull black blur just minutes before seemed to pop off of the paper.

 _To address the ongoing turmoil among the lower castes during this mild food shortage, the Cabinet of Advisors request that Her Majesty Queen Natalia of Illéa make a brief appearance in the province of Likely on the 29_ _th_ _of April of this year._

 _29_ _th_ _of April_. One week from then. Fleur bit her lip and forced herself to resume shoving papers into the cabinet. Each click of her mother's heels down the hall reverberated through her bones and sent a fresh wave of fear coursing through her.

Finally, all the papers were back where they were, and she gently closed the cabinet and backed away…

…only to trip over the mysterious blue folder from earlier. _Crap._ There was no time left to reopen the cabinet. No, that would be too loud, and the Queen was too close. With a rapidly pounding heart, Fleur slapped the closed folder on top of the Queen's mahogany desk and darted underneath it, curling up in fetal position as to go undetected.

Queen Natalia opened the door to her study. She strode over to her desk, dangerously close to where Fleur sat, trembling in fear. Her jaw was clenched so tightly it began to ache.

Luckily, her mother's visit was short. Fleur heard her rustle some papers on her desk, and then watched the skirts of the Queen's gowns swish towards the door and out into the hall. She only came out when she could no longer hear the echoing footsteps.

The princess let out a breath of relief and rose, shaking out her numb limbs. _Too close for comfort._ She scurried towards the door, eager to leave. On a whim, she glanced back to check that everything was in order. Her eyes fell on the Queen's desk.

The blue folder was gone.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 **A/N: Here's chapter 3. I hope you liked it!**

 **This chapter, we got to meet Alek (certified cinnamon roll, in my humble opinion), Antonin (highkey jerk), and Ben (also a cinnamon roll). Can't wait to hear your thoughts! Also, for all of you on Discord, I included "gently triggered" just for you. :)**

 **Next chapter, if all things go as planned, the men will be arriving at the palace. See you then ;)**

 **-Cel**


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